Kaleidoscope Heart
by SamSnead
Summary: Two bruised and battered souls figure out how to rebuild.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Kaleidoscope Heart (1/3)  
**Characters/Pairing:** Johanna/Gale  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers:** HG, CF, & MJ (post Mockingjay)  
**Summary:** Two bruised and battered souls figure out how to rebuild.  
**Author's Note:** This is for all of the lovely and amazing Jo/Gale shippers on LJ. You ladies humble and inspire me. Title and song come from Sara Bareilles' "Kaleidoscope Heart".

_All the colors of the rainbow __  
__Hidden 'neath my skin __  
__Hearts have colors, don't we all know? __  
__Red runs through our veins _

_Feel the fire burning  
Up, inspire me  
With red and blue and green _

_I have hope  
Inside is not a heart  
But a kaleidoscope_

He does not see the bombs go off.

He is trapped inside a foreign apartment, white gloves clamped tightly around his wrists and mouth. They recognize him immediately, and he finds himself praying for a swift death that he knows will never be.

Then he hears the explosion - feels the force of it shake the flimsy apartment walls. He remembers Katniss' words in District 8 - _you burn with us_ - and he hopes that the rebels have destroyed a target that finally brings the Capitol to its knees. He thinks it will be all right to die, so long as the rebellion lives on.

The second explosion catches him off guard. But then he remembers hastily sketched plans and late-night conversations with Beetee about _tactics_, and he realizes that somehow he has had a hand in this destruction. For a second, he is proud. _So proud._

Then he hears a noise rise above the chaotic din outside. A gut-wrenching scream that he would recognize anywhere. A soul ripping from a body. And somehow, he knows.

He does not see the bombs go off. But his whole world explodes just the same.

* * *

It is a clean shot, right through the center of the eye. That's the first thing Gale notices. The second thing he notices is that Coin's body looks just like a bird when it falls. Her arms are outstretched, and the ends of her jacket flutter behind her like a tail as she floats down to the earth. For a moment, it is almost peaceful.

But then come the horrified wails and the bodies clawing against him. Then comes Katniss screaming his name over and over again, her voice raw as she begs desperately for the one thing he cannot give her. Because he has no weapon and he can't get a clean shot through the crowd anyway and he thinks it was foolish, _so foolish_, of them to make promises they couldn't keep. Because he knows now that he could never kill Katniss. Not when she is this broken.

Not even to save her.

* * *

They make a temporary prison out of the same room she used as a Tribute; the war is over, but cruelties can also be committed in times of peace, it seems.

"Can't she stay somewhere else?" Gale asks quietly.

"Katniss' accommodations are the least of her worries," Haymitch snaps wearily, running both hands through his hair. A few feet away, Johanna Mason paces back and forth like a caged lioness, pausing intermittently to glower at the uniformed guards standing on either end of the hallway.

Gale sighs. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go save the girl on fire one last time," Haymitch states flatly, his voice heavy. "You stay here. Keep an eye on things." Then he turns toward Johanna, "And _you -_"

"Save it, Haymitch. I'm not going anywhere."

Haymitch heaves an exasperated sigh of acquiescence then abruptly turns to leave. He has almost disappeared around the hallway corner when Gale speaks suddenly.

"Can she - can she hear us out here?"

Haymitch turns back. "What?"

"Can she hear us out here?" Gale repeats, his voice low.

Johanna laughs scornfully. "You mean, can she hear _you_ out here?"

Gale keeps his eyes trained on Haymitch. "I don't think it would help. If she knew I was here," he explains tersely.

Haymitch observes Gale with a weary, understanding look. "No," he answers finally. "These rooms are wired from the inside out. She'll never know you were here."

_It's better that way_, they all think.

No one says it. But no one has to.

* * *

They manage to coexist silently in the cramped hallway for exactly twenty -three minutes. Johanna watches Gale out of the corner of her eye. She doesn't know much about him, really. She knows that he saved all those people in District 12. She knows that he fought for the cause with a singleness of purpose that she found both irritating and admirable. And she knows that he is so in love with a shell of a girl that he would sit outside her room and keep watch for days on end.

_You should have been the mockingjay_, Katniss had said.

Johanna wonders who would sit outside of _her_ prison cell if things had gone differently - if _she_ had been driven to the brink by the horrors of a rebellion.

_No one_, a tiny voice whispers inside her head. _Absolutely no one_. A sudden jolt of bitter jealousy propels the words out of her mouth before she can stop them.

"So your little love triangle ended with a real _bang_, didn't it?"

"Shut up, Johanna."

"If it's any consolation, I would have picked you."

Gale laughs mirthlessly, scrubbing his hands over his face.

"But then again, _I_ don't have any sisters -"

"Does hurting other people make you hurt any less?" He cuts in sharply.

Johanna stops short, annoyed that he has seen through her. "Excuse me?"

"Because I know you're not as big of a bitch and you'd like everyone to believe." Gale continues, his eyes challenging. Then he presses his back up against the wall, and lets his body slide down until he is sitting on one edge of the doorway.

Johanna scoffs. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Because you're here - still protecting Katniss. Same as me. So just give it a rest, okay?"

Then Gale closes his eyes and lets his held fall back against the wall, leaving Johanna to gape furiously at him. She opens her mouth to speak, then stops as she stares down at the man in front of her. There is a jagged red scar on his neck, purple bruises under his eyes, and a deep weariness about him that she knows sleep will never heal. But his face still looks young, _so young_, and Johanna feels (_not for the first time_) that they are all just a bunch of children playacting a war that someone else started.

So she sighs resignedly, and sits down on the other edge of the doorway with a grunt. The door is between them, and Johanna thinks that they must look like two bitter, demented gargoyles keeping watch over the fragile, shattered little bird inside. Gale cocks his head toward her, and raises an eyebrow as if to say, _is that all you got_?

Johanna just shrugs. The war is over, after all.

* * *

"Don't you have a very important government meeting to attend, or something?" She asks the next day. They are facing each other across the hallway, their legs stretched out.

Gale shakes his head. "They forced me to take a leave of absence after…everything." Johanna watches his lips twist into a bitter smirk. "They thought I might 'need some time to recover from the emotional trauma that I had suffered'."

"How long did they give you?"

"Twelve weeks."

She barks out a sharp laugh. "Twelve weeks, eh? Good luck with that, Hawthorne."

He chuckles softly. "Yeah…"

"You should get yourself a therapist. Mine's done _wonders_," she drawls out sarcastically.

Gale raises an eyebrow. "Oh yeah. You're the picture of mental health."

"Yeah…" she echoes with a smirk.

Johanna lifts her head to stare up at the ceiling. She wonders for a moment how she keeps ending up in this godforsaken Training Center - wonders if her life is on some sort of wretched loop that will always bring her back to this place. She remembers the last time she was here - remembers hushed plots and plans. Remembers the tight little circle of Victors that promised to keep the girl from District 12 safe at all costs.

"Tell me how Finnick died," she says after a long time.

Gale's shoulders tense. "You don't want to hear about it."

"I asked, didn't I?"

Gale rubs his temples with his fingertips, and sighs heavily. "Well maybe I don't want to talk about it."

"Too bad -"

"What was between you and Finnick, anyway?" Gale cuts in.

Johanna can tell that he's trying to change the subject, and it makes her so angry that she begins to see red. "None of your fucking business," she snarls.

They glare at each other tensely. Johanna hates him, for a moment. Hates that he has this information she wants. Hates that she wasn't there to see it herself. Hates that she had to lie powerless in a hospital bed on the other side of the country while everyone else brought down the Capitol.

_Johanna Mason is not powerless_, she thinks, suddenly feeling the need to prove it.

"Sometimes Finnick and I just needed to…" Her voice is hard; her eyes challenging. "…_forget_. You can understand that, I'm sure."

Gale shifts his gaze to the floor.

Johanna shakes her head in mock disbelief. "You mean you and Katniss never -"

"That's none of _your_ business," he cuts in gruffly.

She laughs cruelly, hating the way it sounds, but unable to stop herself. "All _this_…" she says, her voice laced with acidity, "…for a girl you never even _fucked_?"

"Shut the hell up," Gale growls through clenched teeth. Then he moves to stand up, but Johanna is too quick. She traps him to the floor with her body, placing her hands against the wall on either side of his face.

She leans in slowly, her eyes boring into his. "You should try it sometime…" she whispers, her lips mere millimeters away from his, "_…forgetting_. It just might be the thing you need to get over your precious _mockingjay_."

Then she stands up, and stalks away without another word.

* * *

Hours later, he raps on her door sharply. When she doesn't respond immediately, he makes three more quick strokes with his knuckle.

Johanna finally throws open the door with a huff, clearly irritated. "What -"

"Finnick was killed in the Capitol's underground sewer system by a pack of mutts - terrible, scaly white lizard mutts. I've never seen anything so awful in my whole life. We tried to fight them off but there were just too many. Finnick made sure we all escaped before him - told us he could handle the pack. I tried to help him, but it was too late. They were clawing at him - tearing him apart, but he never screamed. Never cried out. He realized it was a lost cause and he just…he just closed his eyes..." Gale pauses, the mental image so vivid that it takes his breath away.

Johanna is silent for a long time as she takes in his words.

"Why -" she begins finally.

"I realized that I'd want to know too. If it had been Katniss…I'd want to know every detail." Gale answers honestly. "And just because you act horribly, it doesn't mean I have to," he adds pointedly. Then he turns around to leave. He is halfway down the hall when she calls out after him.

"Hawthone -"

He stops, and turns to face her.

"I -" She looks like she is searching for the right words. "I say the wrong things sometimes…"

It's not an _I'm sorry_, but somehow it feels like one. He knows it's the closest thing he'll get to one, anyway. So he shakes his head and decides that maybe he's just too tired to fight anymore.

"It's okay. So do I," Gale shrugs.

He sees a ghost of a weary smile pass over her lips. For a second, he thinks that it suits her.

* * *

It happens on the third day. They are sitting on either side of the door, legs stretched out across the length of the hallway. He can tell that Johanna is trying to be nice to him after their late-night conversation. _How did you sleep last night?_, she had asked, her voice strangely polite. _Would you like any coffee?_ It is completely ridiculous, and he figures there has to be some middle ground between _this _Johanna and the one that hurled poison-tipped insults at him yesterday. But at least she's trying.

Then it happens.

Katniss begins to sing.

Her voice sounds hollow and weak - like something from beyond the grave, almost. It is not the voice of the girl he once knew. It is the voice of someone lost; someone irreparably damaged. _Damaged by him._

The hallway suddenly feels unbearably cramped. Gale lifts himself up off the floor, the need to escape almost overwhelming. He begins to run, not looking back.

He doesn't know exactly what he's looking for, but he finds it in an overstuffed pantry off of the kitchen: a bottle of dark brown liquor hidden behind a rotted loaf of bread. It smells sickeningly sweet and burns his throat, but the sensation is not unwelcome. Gale has just started to think that maybe Haymitch is on to something, when he takes one swig too many and the darkness descends with bitter, mocking precision.

_You killed Primrose Everdeen._

_Real or not real?_

He hurls the bottle against the wall and watches the glass explode like a bomb.

That is how Johanna finds him - lost in a stupor of alcohol and regret amongst the shattered glass.

"It only makes things worse," she tells him flatly, a silhouette against the darkened doorway. When he doesn't answer, she steps carefully into the cramped pantry like a shadow and begins to methodically pick up the broken pieces. Her fingers catch on some of the sharp edges and her blood begins to mix with the remnants of brown liquor, but she continues her work silently, piling the fragments on a shelf. It's almost beautiful - the tiny, jagged mountain she creates - and he hazily thinks that somehow she _fits_ among the broken pieces.

She reaches out to sift the last tiny shard from his dark hair, and Gale finally looks up at her.

"Why are you doing this?" He breathes out, his voice thick.

"Maybe I just like not being the craziest one around anymore."

He hangs his head and groans pitifully. "You're not funny, Johanna."

"Yes I am. Now quit wallowing and come to bed, Hawthorne." She pulls him up off the floor and wraps an arm around his torso to steady him. Gale is surprised by how soft her body feels against his. How delicate. He had half-imagined her to be like the mountain of glass sitting on the shelf above him - a cold mess of sharp, jagged edges.

But she is soft and warm, and it occurs to him suddenly that everything he thinks he knows about Johanna Mason might just be wrong.

* * *

He's dead weight and he reeks of liquor. She almost gives up a few times, thinking it might just be easier to let him pass out on the floor. But she doesn't. He has one hand wrapped around her waist, and somehow his fingers have managed to sneak their way under the hem of her shirt. Her skin tingles at the contact, and she tells herself that it's only because it's been _so damn long_ since anyone touched her.

When they finally make it to his room, Johanna dumps him on the edge of the bed. "You're going to want water later," she tells him as she untangles herself from his heavy arms. Then she hesitates for a moment. When Gale doesn't look up from the floor, she turns to leave.

He catches her wrist in his fingers at the last moment. "Johanna…"

Her name sounds like a prayer, and she knows what's coming before he says it.

"I…I want to _forget_…" Gale whispers, lifting his eyes to hers. The implications of his words hang in the air.

"You're drunk," Johanna says quietly, but she does not pull away.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he begins to pull her toward him. "Sometimes it feels like we're the only ones left standing," Gale murmurs.

"Hawthorne…" Her voice is soft. Unsteady. She can feel his warm legs brushing against her thighs as he pulls her closer still.

"We could forget together…" He moves his hands to her hips, and presses his fingers into her flesh tentatively. Johanna sighs, and lets herself lean into his touch almost imperceptibly. "Please…" he begs, tilting his face up to hers.

Johanna stares at him for a long time. She's been with a lot of men in her life. Most she despised. One she loved. Gale Hawthorne, so full of palpable sorrow and stoic desperation, is somewhere in between and Johanna thinks maybe that's just what she needs right now. So she closes her eyes, and lowers her lips to his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Kaleidoscope Heart (2/3)  
**Characters/Pairing:** Johanna/Gale  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers**: HG, CF, & MJ (post Mockingjay)  
**Summary:** Two bruised and battered souls figure out how to rebuild.  
**Author's Note: **This is for all of the lovely and amazing Jo/Gale shippers on LJ. You ladies humble and inspire me. Title and song come from Sara Bareilles' "Kaleidoscope Heart". I do not own the song and I obviously do not own The Hunger Games.

* * *

It becomes a sort of routine. During the day they keep watch over Katniss' tiny prison, and at night they come crashing together in a frenzy of lust and need and _forgetting_ that just barely manages to keep the crushing loneliness at bay. _This is the last time_, they say. They say that every time.

Sometimes Gale feels a stinging sort of guilt envelope him, and he ignores her late-night knocks against his door. Johanna never mentions it, and he's grateful for her feigned ignorance. She always leaves the bed before he's even had time to catch his breath, so he thinks she probably understands.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they begin to form a kind of tenuous trust, though. Gale ignores her knocks less and less; Johanna begins to stay longer. One night they even fall asleep together, his arm curved tentatively around her torso. She's gone when he wakes up, but there's a scribbled note on the pillow next to him: _Went to get some coffee. You snore._

Gale rolls his eyes, but he throws back the blankets to join her.

"You would have done well in the Arena," she says one night, tracing the crisscrossing pattern of white scars on his back with her fingertips.

"Maybe," he acknowledges with a shrug.

"Be thankful you never had to find out."

He turns his body to face her. "I hate it when you guys do that," he says.

"Do what?"

"Act like the Victors are some horrible little clique of the broken and the damned. Like you've got the market cornered on atrocities."

Johanna's eyes turn into tight little slits, and she glares at him with so much venom that he thinks for a second she might slap him. But then she bites down on the edge of her bottom lip and smirks. The smirk grows into a chuckle, which evolves into a full, hearty laugh that shakes her entire body. She curls in on herself and struggles to catch her breath as wave upon wave of laughter courses through her. Gale realizes that he has never heard her laugh before. It is strange. It is maybe a little bit beautiful.

"What's so funny?" Gale finally asks.

"You really aren't afraid of me," she answers, still gasping through sharp bursts of laughter.

He rolls his body over hers and pins her hands above her head in one fluid motion. "You trying to scare me away?" He whispers into her ear, his voice laced with promise. Johanna arches her body against him, and hooks her leg around his sharp hip.

"Not just yet…" she smirks, before crushing her mouth against his.

* * *

Katniss is singing again - some awful, melancholy dirge about a hanging tree - over and over again. Johanna's never heard the song before, so it must be a District 12 thing. She glances over at Gale's face, which is screwed up in a tight, tortured grimace. A fairly painful District 12 thing, it would seem.

"You should go get some sleep," she says finally. "We don't both need to be here all the time."

Gale shrugs. "It wouldn't do any good. She sings in my nightmares too."

They lapse back into silence as another round of _are you, are you, coming to the tree_ drifts around them like a heavy, suffocating fog.

"I just - I didn't think it would be like this. _Winning_, I mean…" Gale muses after awhile. His voice sounds far away even though he's sitting right next to her.

"It never is," she says, remembering how hollow the word _victor_ sounded when the hovercraft finally lifted her battered body from the Arena. "You get used to it though."

Johanna's not sure why she lies. Maybe it's the darkness in his eyes. Or maybe she just wishes it were the truth.

She's surprised when Gale chuckles and raises an eyebrow in her direction. It's clear he's seen right through her, but at least there's a hint of a wry smile pulling at his lips. "Do you? Because right now I hate myself."

"Oh, that's no big deal. I hate myself too," Johanna counters breezily. "Maybe that's why we don't hate each other."

Gale smirks. "We don't hate each other?"

"Well, I still hate you. But you're beginning to quite like me," she deadpans.

His response is a hearty, booming laugh that echoes through the hallway. It sounds like _life_ to her, and for a moment it manages to drown out the song of _death_ coming from the other side of the door.

"I do like you," Gale says quietly after he's finally caught his breath. The sincerity in his voice catches Johanna off-guard. It's the closest they've come to talking about it - whatever _it_ is - and Johanna doesn't think she's quite ready.

"You just like me because I'm here," she dismisses, trying to keep her voice light.

"That's not true," he says, turning to look at her. "That's not true at all."

They hold each other's gaze for a long time. It feels somehow like too much and not enough, so she averts her eyes.

"Maybe I don't hate you after all," she says after a moment.

He laughs again, and Johanna smiles in spite of herself.

* * *

They are both restless sleepers.

She stays more often now, almost every night, and some nights Gale wakes up to Johanna's teeth scraping against his shoulder and her hand snaking up his thigh, insistent and desperate. His dreams are filled with familiar District 12 faces that burn like torches, so he's glad for the reprieve. He doesn't ask questions.

Other nights he wakes up with a sharp start, certain there's something vitally important he has left behind somewhere along the way. He's never quite sure what it is, though, and he lays awake for hours retracing his steps. A girl from the Seam had become the Mockingjay, and he had become…what? A soldier? A hero? Prim's murderer? The answer never comes; sometimes Gale doesn't think he wants it to.

And on certain nights, he just finds himself at the window. He can see the Presidential Mansion through the glass, and instinctively he knows that it must be the same in every bedroom. One final reminder to the Tributes of who was pulling the strings, he supposes. As if they could have forgotten.

"Nice view, right?" Johanna says from the bed, her voice thick with half-sleep.

It startles him, but his eyes stay forward, trained on the tight, concrete square in front of the Presidential Mansion. In the bright moonlight he can just make out bunches of wilting flowers, surrounded by scribbled notes and tiny trinkets. Frayed photographs flap in the light breeze, and Gale is glad that he's not close enough to see the faces. A makeshift memorial. The whole country's a memorial now, but he takes the blame for this one.

"Do you think I'm heartless?" Gale wonders aloud, his voice hollow.

Johanna sits up in bed, and lets the sheet fall down around her waist. But she doesn't say anything.

"During the war - during everything -" he continues, almost to himself, "Katniss sometimes made me feel…heartless. Like I was making all the wrong choices…" he drifts off.

"Do _you_ think you made the wrong choices?" she finally asks, her tone devoid of judgment.

"I don't know. I have no idea anymore."

He hears Johanna suck in a deep breath through her teeth. "I've seen a lot of heartless people in my life. They've forced me to kill for their amusement. They've sold my body for profit. And when they thought I had the answers they needed, they tortured me in unspeakable ways."

His head spins for a second as he takes in her words. But he knows the last thing she would want is his pity, so he keeps his voice even as he turns toward her. "Jo -"

She holds up her hand. "Don't," Johanna says simply. "Just don't. What I'm trying to say is…I've known a lot of heartless people, and you're not one of them. I'm not going to let you think that about yourself. So just stop it, Hawthorne."

Gale wants to argue with her - wants to tell her that coming out on top of murderers and torturers isn't much of a victory. But her eyes are so dark, her expression so vacant, that he thinks better of it. Instead, he crosses to the edge of the bed and crawls up her body, curving his fingers around her ribcage. He uses his tongue to trace the jagged scar that cuts across her collarbone, and she lets her head fall forward onto his shoulder. Her hair has grown longer, and Gale can feel the soft brown strands fanned out against his neck. He thinks it might be nice to run his fingers through the short, dark tangle - the way a lover might. He thinks she might even let him. But he knows that a gentle touch will only make her feel more _damaged_, so he rakes his nails down her sides instead. She sighs a thick moan against his ear, and he lifts her hips up to close the space between their bodies

It doesn't feel like _fucking_, and it doesn't feel like _forgetting_ - it feels like something else. Something Gale can't quite place. It pulls at his stomach, but the ache is not entirely unpleasant, so he tilts his head forward to capture her mouth with his own.

Later, when their sweaty, spent bodies are curled together and Johanna has her head pressed against his chest, he feels it again. The indefinable ache. Gale listens to her quiet, even breathing for a long time, until he is sure she's finally asleep. Then he brushes his fingers gently though her hair.

* * *

"She's free," Haymitch says simply one day. "Well, free to go back to District 12. I had to promise that I'd stay with her."

_Oh_ is all Gale says, his gaze trained on the floor. When he finally looks up, Johanna is looking at him with an inscrutable expression.

"I'm going to go make sure they don't forget any of her things," she says, her eyes unreadable. Then she steps forward tentatively to lay a careful hand on his shoulder. "Let me know if you need anything," she says quietly, before disappearing down the hallway.

Haymitch twists his head to watch her walk away. After a few seconds, he folds his arms against his chest and leans against the door frame. "I see the love triangle has become a square," he deadpans.

Gale rolls his eyes. "Haymitch -"

"Save it, I could care less. I just need to know if you're coming with us."

"With you?" Gale repeats, confused.

"To District 12. Are you coming with us?" Haymitch asks again, pressing the heels of both hands against his eyes. He looks wearier than Gale has ever seen him look, and considering everything they've been though, that's saying something.

"I - I don't -"

Haymitch cuts him off. "You've been sitting outside of her room for weeks, so quit looking at me like I'm asking a stupid question."

"I - I just wanted to make sure she was safe, Haymitch. I wanted to make sure they didn't hurt her," Gale protests. The he stops and turns to gaze at the door to Katniss' room - the door he's been keeping watch over day after day. "I never even thought about going back," he realizes after a moment.

Gale thinks suddenly of the two lost kids they used to be, crouched together in the woods - safe within their own little haven of bows and snares. They had been content then - happy, even. But the Games had changed them. The rebellion had changed them. They hadn't been those little kids in a long time, and it was time to stop pretending that they ever could be again. They couldn't go back, and Gale realized with a start that he didn't really want to.

"Then there's your answer," Haymitch says simply.

Gale nods his head. "Yeah…I guess it is."

He expects to feel a sadness - a sense of mourning for a life filled with love and gray-eyed children that will never be. But instead he just feels _light_. Like the letting go is somehow a beginning.

"You'll take care of her, right?" Gale asks, lifting his eyes to meet the older man's gaze.

"It's what I do," Haymitch shrugs. He reaches out to grasp the doorknob to Katniss' room, then turns back to look at Gale. He narrows his eyes slightly, as if contemplating something. "Johanna is...not as tough as she seems," he says finally.

"I know," Gale replies, his voice sincere.

Haymitch nods his head once, seemingly satisfied. "Okay mockingjay," he whispers, twisting the knob sharply. "It's time to fly home." Then he steps into the room with a purposeful stride.

The door has barely clicked shut when Gale hears the sound of soft footsteps against the carpet.

"How long were you listening?" he says, turning around to face her.

Johanna waves her hand through the air dismissively. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're lying," Gale says quietly, catching her hand with his own.

"Not long," Johanna admits. She gazes at him thoughtfully for a few moments. "Are you okay?"

He doesn't quite know what to say - doesn't know how to tell her that he's grateful that she's here with him. Doesn't know how to tell her that he thinks maybe that feeling of letting go - that hint of _new_ _beginning_ - might have a lot to do with her.

So he just squeezes her hand gently, and presses his lips against their entwined fingers.

* * *

They are standing out on the roof in the pre-dawn light, naked save for a soft gray blanket that Gale has managed to wrap around both of them. Johanna shivers lightly, and he pulls her body closer to his.

She takes a deep, full breath, inhaling the crisp morning air, and it strikes her that she suddenly feels…a million words filter through her mind, each one more foreign than the last. Warm. Content. Safe. _Happy_. It's been years, lifetimes it seems, since she has felt any of these things, so Johanna regards them warily - wonders how long they can last.

"I took a job in District 2," Gale says without warning.

Johanna's body stiffens, and she grits her teeth at its betrayal. _Not very long at all_, she thinks bitterly. _Of course_. Then she does her best to coat her voice with indifference.

"Why?"

"Because my leave of absence is almost up," Gale answers quietly. "Because I didn't fight a rebellion just to haunt this Training Center like a ghost."

There is a long pause as they both stare down at the city that once held them both prisoners. The fires have all been put out, and the streets have been scrubbed clean, but the stench of blood and destruction still hangs in the air. _Maybe some things are past the point of salvation_, she thinks, a vague sense of angry desperation buzzing in her chest.

"Come to District 2," he murmurs against her neck.

Johanna whirls around to face him. "With you?"

"I'll be there," Gale says, his face unreadable.

The words hang in the air for a few moments, heavy with meaning, and Johanna feels a wave of panic begin to wash over her. _There's no one left I love_, she remembers with a sudden start. No one left. She had been ready to die in that Arena. Ready to die in that Capitol torture room as the current coursed through her, wracking her body with inexpressible pain. She knows how to do that - how to look a cold, lonely death squarely in the eye and accept it with a defiant snarl. But this - Gale standing in front of her with guarded hopefulness, the hazy vision of a _future_ hidden just behind his eyes - this is completely new to her.

"What are we going to do?" She scoffs, trying to keep the edge of panic out of her voice, "Play house and pretend we're not a couple of broken fuck ups?"

"Don't do that, Jo. Don't start a fight with me just because you're scared -"

"I'm not scared," She pulls away roughly. "I'm not scared at all. I'm just calling this _exactly_ what it is."

"Which is?"

"We were placeholders for each other, that's all. A few easy fucks to pass the time. A way to _forget_," Johanna spits out. Every word is a lie, but she doesn't know how to stop herself.

"That - that's not true at all," Gale fumbles, before taking a moment to gather himself. "Maybe in the beginning, yeah. But now…you're not a placeholder, Johanna." He steps forward and looks intently into her eyes. "When I'm with you, I don't think about anyone else."

His voice is gentle, s_o gentle_, and suddenly her anger is gone, replaced by a bottomless ache.

"What - what are we doing, Hawthorne?" she whispers after a long time, hating the vulnerability in her voice.

"I - I don't know. I just know that I think I need you." Gale reaches a calloused hand up the cup her cheek. "I just know that things are better when you're around. So I'm asking you to come with me."

She looks into his gray eyes for a long time. Tries to imagine their fractured pieces coming together to create a _we_ and an _us_. Tries to imagine herself as part of something good and strong and beautiful.

But it's useless. She can't get the pieces to fit together in her head, and Johanna knows that she'll never be a part of something good and strong and beautiful because she doesn't deserve to be. Because no matter how many years pass, or how many Capitols she helps tear down, she'll always be the sly, false little girl who tricked them all into submission. She'll always be crouched in that Arena, trying desperately to rub the blood and bone and _shame_ off of her ax. She'll always be alone against the world.

"I can't," she says finally, her voice tight. "I - I have to go to District 4. I promised Finnick that I would look after Annie if anything happened to him."

"Okay," he accepts, and Johanna thinks she sees a knowing sadness pass through his eyes. He doesn't put up a fight, and she feels a bleak sense of relief. But it stings all the same.

Then he holds her face in his hands and kisses her gently. The words stab at her tongue - _Ask me again, I was wrong, I'm sorry _- but she keeps them trapped tightly inside. She struggles desperately to keep herself together, but a hot, solitary tear streaks its way down her cheek before she can stop it.

They both pretend not to notice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Kaleidoscope Heart (3/3)  
**Characters/Pairing:** Johanna/Gale  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers**: HG, CF, & MJ (post Mockingjay)  
**Summary**: Two bruised and battered souls figure out how to rebuild.  
**Author's Note**: Thanks so much to everyone who has commented, rec'ed, and favorited this story! This is for all of the lovely and amazing Jo/Gale shippers on LJ. You ladies humble and inspire me. Title and song come from Sara Bareilles' "Kaleidoscope Heart".

* * *

District 2 is _nothing_ like District 12. The air smells different—thinner, somehow—and the mountains seem to pierce the sky. There are strange, foreign trees he's never seen before, but Gale doesn't mind that.

He doesn't mind the work either. As it turns out, it is far, _far_ harder to build up than it was to tear down, but it doesn't leave him feeling so hollow. His position involves rebuilding all of the things that were destroyed in the war—deciding where to build roads, install electrical grids, allocate resources. There's not much left, so the list of demands goes on and on. But Gale has always been good at making something out of nothing.

It's an important job. People know his name and they look to him for answers. Sometimes there are cameras that shine bright, blinding lights in his face and microphones that beg for words he can never quite find. Gale bristles at the attention - resists this version of himself that people seem to have created. He thinks of Johanna when they all look at him like he's some kind of _hero_. He knows that if she were here she would understand.

But she's not here, so he fills his days with work and his nights with the grain alcohol they brew at the makeshift bar set up in the center of town. It's not half as smooth as the white liquor that Haymitch loves, but it does the trick. He tips back glass after glass, thinking of the night when he pulled Johanna close and asked her to help him forget. He wonders what she would think of this new kind of forgetting.

Soon, people know his name for something other than the Rebellion. He sees their sidelong looks each night as he sidles up to the bar - hears their whispers. He can feel their delusions of him shattering and it fills him with a sort of grim satisfaction. Gale lifts his glass in a silent, bitter toast to harsh realities.

Beetee sits down next to him one night, and orders a drink that he doesn't touch. "Funny thing…" he says after awhile, gazing up at the bare light bulb that flickers just above their heads.

"What's that?" Gale asks, taking a swig that burns against the back of his throat.

"Times of peace don't need rebels," he muses, as if the thought is occurring to him for the first time. "They need leaders." When Gale doesn't say anything, Beetee stands up and pats him on the shoulder. "It's time to stop fighting, Soldier Hawthorne." Then he sinks his hands into his pockets and walks away.

Gale stares into his glass, thinking about the older man's words for a long time. He thinks of Katniss, broken by the rebellion she never meant to start. He thinks of Prim and District 12 and the long list of sacrifices that have fallen along the way. He wonders what they would say if they could see him now.

Eventually he realizes Beetee's only half-right. This fragile, broken country _does_ need leaders. But it also needs fighters - people who are willing to fight for good just as fiercely as they fought against evil.

It's a different kind of war.

But as he stands up and pushes himself away from the bar, Gale thinks that maybe it's the one he'd like to be remembered for.

* * *

Annie lives in a pale yellow cottage on the beach. It has a wraparound porch ringed by white picket fencing, and Johanna can't help thinking that it looks like something out of one of those childhood stories her mother read to her long ago.

"What happened to the Victor's Village?" Johanna asks when she arrives, eyeing the ocean warily.

"I never liked it there," Annie simply says. Then she smiles a sweet, knowing smile. "I thought maybe you would come. It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too," Johanna replies, genuine. She has always liked Annie - always felt strangely protective of the younger girl. Maybe it was because she was so fragile, or because she didn't beat her Games the way the others did (she just _swam_). Or maybe it was just because Finnick loved Annie best, and Johanna had realized long ago that some battles were not hers to win.

District 4 is peaceful. _Too fucking peaceful_, Johanna thinks. She's not quite sure what to do with herself, so she putters around the cottage, busying herself with odd jobs. By the end of the third week, she has fixed all of the broken shutters, swept a fresh coat of paint over the porch railing, repaired the crackling television set, and cleaned the entire house several times over. At night Annie teaches her how to bake batches of salty seaweed bread and they watch the fireflies dance against the indigo sky.

Johanna almost doesn't notice it at first. The change in Annie. But slowly, ever so slowly, she begins to see the quiet purposefulness in the younger woman's demeanor; the newfound lucidity in her eyes. She begins to see that even though Annie still slips away sometimes, she now brings _herself_ back.

"You seem…different," Johanna says carefully over breakfast one morning.

Annie rubs a hand lightly over her stomach, which is just beginning to curve. "I feel different."

"What's changed?" Johanna can't help but ask.

Annie stares out the window for a long time. "Before he left for the Capitol," she finally begins, her voice soft, "Finnick said something to me. He said, 'No matter what happens, _don't look back._' It was the last thing he ever said to me - the last thing he ever wanted for me. So every morning I wake up…and I try not to look back. I try to look _forward_…" Annie trails off, her voice catching on the last word.

Johanna sucks in a deep breath, taking a moment to absorb Annie's words. Then she reaches out to clasp Annie's trembling hand in her own. "You're doing good," she whispers after awhile. "You're doing real good, Annie."

"You think?" Annie's murmurs, an undercurrent of determination mixed in with the soft vulnerability.

"Yeah," Johanna nods with gentle firmness. "Finnick would be proud of you."

Annie smiles sadly as she shifts her eyes back to the window, and they sit together for a long time, their hands entwined across the kitchen table.

Later, when she is lying in bed, Johanna thinks again about Finnick's words. _Don't look back,_ she whispers into the darkness. The words feel strange on her tongue - uncertain.

She thinks of Gale, working in District 2 to help rebuild this world they fought so hard to free. She thinks of the way he looked at her when he asked her to come with him. _Look forward_, she whispers again, hesitating as the words roll off her tongue.

She wonders when Annie became the strong one.

* * *

Gale meets a man about his age at work, a former quarry worker named Levi who also chose the rebellion, and they become _maybesortafriends_. They walk home from work together sometimes. It's nice to have someone to talk to - someone who didn't know him before the war. One weekend Levi invites Gale over to meet his wife, and the three of them have dinner on a table under the stars.

"Who's that?" Gale asks later, as he carries the empty plates into the kitchen. He cocks his head toward a small, framed picture of a young boy, about ten years old. His shaggy blonde hair is falling in his eyes, and his bright, wide grin is missing both front teeth.

"My brother," Levi replies. He takes the plates from Gale and begins to wash them in the sink. "That picture was taken about a year before he got snatched up by the Capitol."

"Snatched up?"

"The Capitol used to take kids from District 2," Levi says, carefully placing the wet dishes on a rack next to the sink. "The most brilliant, the most capable kids got taken away to train for military jobs. Taken away to fight the Capitol's battles."

Gale thinks of life in the Seam. It was a hard, hungry life to be sure. But at least they were left alone until their first reaping. "What happened to him?" He asks after a moment.

Levi looks at the picture thoughtfully for a long time, as if trying to decide something. Then he turns off the faucet, and wipes his damp hands against the front of his pants. Taking a deep breath, Levi finally turns to look at Gale. "He ended up piloting one of the planes that reduced District 12 to ashes. Then during the war they made him come back here to work at Headquarters. He - he died in the rebel assault. That day you guys blew up the mountain."

Gale sucks in a sharp breath. "I - I'm sorry."

"Those were dark days," Levi says, his voice devoid of judgment or malice. "Dark days full impossible choices. It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't _his_ fault," Gale replies without hesitation.

Levi turns back toward him with a small, sad smile. "I know. It wasn't any of our faults, Gale." Then he sinks his hands into his pockets and turns toward the back door with a shrug. "Come on, let's go back outside. I bet Dahlia's wondering where we are."

Gale nods his head absentmindedly, surprised to find no guilty weight creeping in to press upon his heart. The world, the war, everything really, are far more complicated than he ever could have imagined, but he finds himself welcoming the complications. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they have begun to absolve him of his sins.

Johanna's face flashes through his mind with a sudden sharpness that takes his breath away, and Gale wonders whether she has found the same sort of peace hidden somewhere in District 4.

He finds himself desperately hoping so.

* * *

It's been two months. _No_, Johanna thinks, counting the days in her head frantically, l_onger than that. Too long._

Annie realizes it around the same time, after she finds Johanna retching into the toilet for the third day in a row.

"Who?" She asks quietly, placing a damp washcloth against the back of Johanna's neck.

"Gale Hawthorne," Johanna manages to moan.

Annie just nods as she moves the washcloth to Johanna's forehead. "One time?"

"No. It - it was happening for months." Johanna drops her head onto the cool porcelain. "He asked me to come with him to District 2…" Her words echo against the tile walls.

"So you care about him?" Annie asks after a moment.

Johanna chokes out a sharp, bitter laugh. She doesn't know why she's laughing - it's not funny. It's not funny at all. "Do I _care_ about him?"

"It's a simple question," Annie says softly.

"No it's not. It's not a fucking _simple question_, Annie," Johanna snaps, pushing herself away from the toilet. She can't be here anymore - trapped in this claustrophobic bathroom with these claustrophobic questions - so she hurls herself through the cramped hallway and out onto the porch. She keeps going, her feet propelling her down the creaking steps and onto the warm, soft sand, before stopping short with a strangled gasp.

About fifty feet in front of her is a small group of children playing at the shoreline. Johanna watches them for a moment as she struggles to catch her breath, the bile still thick against the back of her throat. They take turns, their tiny feet making soft impressions in the wet sand as they creep carefully towards the water's edge. Closer…closer…_so close_ as the sea starts to curl up on itself. Then, as the wave slides toward them - just at the moment when it is about to overtake them - they turn around and run, squealing with delight as the icy water nips at the heels. Again and again they play the game, begging the ocean to chase them farther and farther up the sand as their peals of laughter mix in with the sound of the crashing waves.

Suddenly, a little girl with soft blonde curls trips and falls flat against the sand. A new wave has just begun to unfurl itself, and Johanna wants to call out to the girl - wants to tell her to _stand up and run_. But the ocean is too fast, too powerful, and in a heartbeat the wave is crashing all around the little girl, enveloping her. Johanna opens her mouth to scream - to call out for Annie - but the words die in her throat as she suddenly hears a sound emerge from underneath the swirling current, clear and strong. Laughter. The little girl stands up after a moment, shaking the water from her hair with a gleeful grin. And then she _laughs_. After a moment, the other children run forward to join her, splashing through the thick, salty water with joyful abandon.

And just like that, something shifts inside of her and Johanna realizes that she's had the game wrong all along. The point of the game was never to run away.

The point of the game was to eventually let the water catch you.

* * *

Gale tells himself that he has gotten used to not having her around. Almost. Mostly. But when he opens his front door one day to find her leaning against the doorframe, a suitcase in her hand and the same wry smile on her lips, he's knows that he's been kidding himself.

"I saw you on TV. The teenage girls in District 4 were swooning. Literally."

Gale smiles in spite of himself. "Did you come all the way here just to make fun of me?"

"No," Johanna acknowledges, her eyes unreadable. Her hair is pinned back in a messy knot and her shoulders are sun-burnt a soft pink. She fidgets with the edge of her shirt, and Gale can tell there's something she's not saying.

"What happened to District 4?" He asks carefully.

"There's too much water there," she shrugs, shifting her gaze to the floor. "I'm trying to convince Annie to move somewhere drier."

"It's drier here -"

"I'm pregnant," she says suddenly, lifting her eyes to his.

He has watched his district burn and designed bombs and fought a rebellion, but somehow this is the thing that leaves him speechless.

"Pick your chin up off the floor and invite me inside, Hawthorne."

* * *

"Do you - do you want some tea?"

It's a stupid thing to say - the stupidest, really - but she's been pacing back and forth silently in his tiny kitchen for five whole minutes, and Gale is beginning to think that maybe he'll go crazy if one of them doesn't start talking soon.

"I'd prefer something harder."

He opens and shuts his mouth lamely. "I don't -"

Johanna finally stops and turns to smirk at him. "I'm just kidding. Relax Gale." Then she starts pacing all over again.

"You called me by my first name," he says after a moment.

"I figured we might be on a first-name basis by now," she deadpans. "What with…everything…"

Gale leans against the edge of the sink with a heavy sigh. His mind is reeling, and he's having trouble wrapping his thoughts around her revelation, but he knows that this - whatever _this_ is that they are doing - is not the answer. "Is that what we're going to do? Make jokes and not talk about it?"

"No. That's not -" Johanna runs a hand through her hair with an exasperated sigh as she turns to gaze out the window. "I - I practiced what I was going to say," she says after awhile. "On the train ride here. Isn't that fucking _ridiculous_? I had it all planned out. But now that I'm here, I just - I just have no idea what to say."

He watches her from across the room, a tiny silhouette against the mid-afternoon sun streaming through the window. Her shoulders are curved - heavy - and her fingers are beating a nervous, uneven rhythm against the edge of the window sill.

"It's okay if you don't know what to say, Jo," he says quietly after a moment. "I don't know what to say either."

Johanna finally turns around to look at him. "Why are you so damn _calm_?" she grumbles.

Gale laughs in spite of himself. "Do I seem calm? Because I'm not at all." He looks at her from across the room for a few moments when a sudden realization dawns on him. "But you're here. You could have stayed away. You could have never told me -" The words come out faster than he can think them, but instinctively he knows them to be true. "But you're _here_. And I think that means something. I think maybe it's time for us to just be honest with each other, Jo."

They hold each other's gaze for a long time, before Johanna shifts her eyes up to the ceiling. "_Honest_…" she whispers, almost to herself, before taking a deep, full breath. "I thought about you," she says finally. "When I was in District 4. I thought about you a lot."

"I thought about you too," Gale acknowledges quietly. "I missed you," he says after a moment, because it is the truth.

She keeps her eyes trained upward as she continues. "I thought a lot about that morning - on the roof. When you asked me to come here with you..." Johanna pauses for a long time. "I wanted to say yes…" she whispers finally, her voice beginning to tremble.

"Why didn't you?" Gale asks carefully.

"Because I was scared," she breathes out, her words unbearably vulnerable.

He fights the urge to cross the room and gather her into his arms, and instead simply asks, "Why were you scared?"

"Because I - I had never thought about what came _after_ the war. I'd been fighting against the Capitol for so long that I couldn't imagine anything else," Johanna voice sounds strained as she leans her body against the windowsill with a heavy sigh. "And then there you were. Asking me to a part of this - this future that just wasn't meant for me."

Gale furrows his brow in confusion. "Why wasn't it meant for you?"

Johanna throws her arms wide open with a sharp, bitter laugh. "Because I have killed four people with my bare hands, Gale. And many more with weapons. Because I'm a _monster_ -"

"No," he cuts her off sharply. She opens her mouth to protest, but he shakes his head firmly. "No, Johanna. You didn't let me believe that I was heartless, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you believe that you're a monster." He begins to advance towards her slowly, his words steady and purposeful. "Johanna Mason, you are the strongest, most resilient woman that I have ever met. You have been through things that most people could never imagine, and you never let them break you. You found me in my darkest moments, and you made me imagine that I could be something else. Something better." Gale closes the remaining distance between them, and reaches out to grasp her hands; he can feel them shaking in his own.

Johanna shakes her head back and forth desperately, but she doesn't pull away. "I want to believe you. When you look at me - I want to believe that I can be something else too. Something good. But I keep coming back to that _moment_ when they pulled my name out of the bowl." She stops, a faraway look in her eyes, before continuing with a painful sigh. "That moment when I knew that I was nothing but a lost cause…"

Her words sound like an open wound and she begins to weep softly. Gale releases her hands, and reaches up with brush away her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

"You're not a lost cause, Johanna." She begins to shake her head again, but he stops her with his words. "You're not, and neither am I. We were just what the Capitol made us. But now we're free to be whatever we want to be." He lifts her chin gently with his finger, willing her to meet his gaze. "So who do you want to be Johanna?"

"Why are you doing this?" she whispers, finally lifts her eyes to his. And just like that, the world twists. Falls into place.

"Because I'm in love with you," Gale realizes with a quiet, perfect certainty. "I'm in love with you," he repeats again, his voice stronger. "And I wasn't expecting it, and I - I definitely have no idea how to be a father..." he falters for a moment, the emotion overwhelming. "But I let you run away from me once, and I won't do it again. Because who I want to be - what I want to be - is _yours_."

Johanna begins to cry in earnest now. Gale can feel the hot tears streaking paths around his fingertips, but he keeps his hands pressed gently against the sides of her cheeks.

"Who do you want to be?" He whispers again, leaning in until his lips are only a breath away from hers.

Johanna chokes out another sob and stares at him, her eyes unreadable. The moment seems to stretch on infinitely, and suddenly Gale is afraid that she will leave again. The thought strikes him with a paralyzing fear, but he holds her gaze steadily, desperate to make her understand. Then slowly, ever so slowly, Johanna leans in to press her lips to his. They stay like that - their warm, tentative breath mixing in with the salt of her tears as the kiss begins to deepen with an aching sweetness.

After a moment, Johanna pulls away gently and presses her forehead against his. Her eyes are still shining, but Gale thinks that maybe he sees a sort of peacefulness mixed in with the pain. "Yours," she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "That's what I want to be. I want to be _yours_."

When she presses her lips to his again, it feels like coming home.


	4. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

It should not work, but somehow it does. Most of the time. They are both used to thinking in blacks and whites, so the shades of gray take some getting used to. Letting go of the past is hard, and sometimes Johanna feels suddenly wracked by all of her old fears. She packs her suitcase on three different occasions, certain she'll find a way to ruin things in the end anyway. But she never leaves. Gale finds her each time, perched on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands. He gently pries her fingers away from her face and lifts her chin.

"I love you," he tells her simply, planting a soft kiss against her forehead.

"I love you too," she whispers back, the words less strange with every passing day.

They always unpack her suitcase together.

* * *

Annie arrives after a few weeks, and they find a little house for her just up the road. When she's feeling cranky, Johanna mutters about the ridiculousness of it all - these two symbols of death and destruction now harboring life inside of their swollen bellies. But Annie just smiles serenely, while Gale rolls his eyes and laughs with affection.

"_It's time_," Annie says one day. Johanna holds Annie's hand the whole time, and they cry because they both wish that Finnick were there to hold her hand instead. The little boy is healthy and perfect; he looks so much like his father that it steals their breath away. Johanna glances at Annie, worried for a split-second that it might be too much for her - that she might slip away again.

But Annie just holds the tiny, precious bundle to her chest and smiles, her eyes clear and bright.

"I've been waiting for you," is all she says, as she presses her lips to the soft bronze hair.

* * *

They have a boy too. He comes out with an angry wail - a tangle of dark hair and tiny, balled-up fists - and they both think, _of course_. Gale says that he looks like a Seam kid, but Johanna insists that he's District 7 through and through. Annie points out that the districts aren't separated by fences anymore, and they all agree that maybe he just looks like a _new world._

They have another boy a year later. He looks exactly like the first, and Johanna laughs because even their mixed together DNA is too stubborn and intractable for its own good.

Later, the boys tell stories of good guys and bad guys. Gale doesn't have the heart to tell them that in real life the roles are far more complicated. Some of the bad guys have good inside of them. And some of the good guys commit unspeakably bad acts.

"Maybe they'll never have to learn those lessons," Johanna says one night, as she watches them sleep. "Maybe our war got it right."

Gale wraps his arms around her from behind. "I think you've finally gone soft, Johanna," he teases.

She elbows him in the gut sharply. "Shut up, Hawthorne," she whispers with a smirk, as he chuckles against her quietly. Then she turns her head to catch his lips with her own.

* * *

They live for a long time. Long enough that the things they are proud of far outweigh the things that bring them shame. There are still moments when the weight of the past threatens to crush them - moments when their toes just barely catch on the dark edge of the abyss. But they learn to twist their hands together into a knot that traps the light between them.

It's not a perfect world, and theirs is not a perfect life. But the world is a far, far better place for their children than it was for them, and after a long time, they finally learn to take a little bit of credit for that. The historians and the textbooks call them many things - heroes, revolutionaries, Victor (the title still sticks even though the Games are now nothing but flat words on crisp pages that future generations will never truly understand).

But in the quiet moments that come just before sleep, they shed the world's titles and perceptions. They listen to each other's quiet breathing, and they remember exactly who they are - they remember exactly who they fought so hard to become.

They are Johanna Mason and Gale Hawthorne.

In the end, it is enough.


End file.
